


i've got miles to go

by aestheticisms (R_Vienna)



Category: Love Live! School Idol Project
Genre: F/F, High School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:45:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Vienna/pseuds/aestheticisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's an issue of emotion, rather than register. -- Umi, Maki.<br/>(writing music should be easier.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've got miles to go

**Author's Note:**

> the one umimaki fan in all of the world

She's pressing down on the piano keys singing along to a song they heard on the radio a week ago, something sweet and light, and her voice doesn't do it justice. It's a different register, a different tone, and it brings the notes to life in a way Umi Sonoda wishes her lyrics could compare. Maki Nishikino has a two sided voice. It's cool, calm, collected-- 

"Sonoda-senpai!" 

And then it's not.  

At the very least, she tries to play it off. She goes up a few octaves and screeches to a halt, hands slamming against the ivory with a ear shattering bang. 

"Maki, practicing late?" Umi won't chide her for being formal, she's not Eli, she lets her readjust to the situation at hand, Maki tucks a piece of red hair behind her ear and takes a breath, before fixing her violet gaze. She gives Umi a steady stare.

"Just a little. Wrapping up the song for the school festival." She almost looks bored, and Umi's lips twitch into an expression resembling a smile. Not quite there yet, the dark haired girl looks at the empty space on the piano bench. Maki rolls her eyes, pats the seat.

"Come on, I want to make sure the composition sounds right."

Umi sits down next to her, smooths out her skirt until it's perfect, and makes sure to keep a respectable distance between their thighs. Maki notices her fidget and tries to keep her face nondescript, instead focusing on the piece at hand, she moves the sheet music for the song from earlier, and replaces it with Umi's song. They're performing a new one, and she's nervous, to be honest. She hasn't heard it sung yet, they haven't had a full practice yet, but, if--

"Umi?"

She blinks and smiles. "Sorry?"

"I was asking if you wanted it in a different key or if this was fine."

Maki plays the opening again, twice. One is deeper, and the other one is lighter. Airy. 

Neither of them fit the tone of the lyrics, but she keeps her lips pursed. 

"Try the faster version."

Maki nods, and her hands fly over the keys, she distills a pop song into a ballad, and Umi waits until the second chorus before she sings along, she wants to get a feel for it, one, two, three--God, maybe she should wait, her cheeks go rouge, the lyrics are a lot more sentimental against the piano, will yourself Umi, one, two, three.

"I love you, I love you, no matter when, hey, hey, without losing, I'm praying--"

There's a change up in the key and they harmonize, and Umi thinks, Maki's finally giving it her all, the first verse was almost flippant in delivery but now, she's stepping up. Competing. 

Fine. Do your best.

"Don't forget during the times you are tired, just wait a little bit and remember, think about me, baby." 

The piano was not the best tool for what Umi hoped would be a catchy pop hit. She shakes her head, and Maki stops playing, she's a lot smoother in the transition this time around, and she throws on a pout, lips curled just so. 

"What? Did it need work?" Umi laughs behind her hand when the statement comes out more arrogant than Maki would like, the red haired girl backpedals into cool indifference--these were the little things Umi appreciated about their sessions. 

"It's fine, the key is fine. The song sounds great." Umi taps an index finger against her cheek and considers her phrasing. 

"It's not what it sounds like, though. It just doesn't feel right."

Maki's lips twist and Umi knows hell has no greater fury than a Nishikino scorned. She keeps her stare level and presses a few keys, an easy staccato, keeps herself dignified. 

"What is it missing?" Flat.

Maki's fingers hover over the board, as if examining it for the first time. Her hair falls over her shoulders, and she's got this awful look on her face. Umi knows it well, it's the same one she wears after missing a particularly important mark in archery, or a step in a routine. She's playing the chorus again, faster this time, and Umi tucks a strand of navy hair behind her ear. 

"It's missing you."

She stops playing.

"You've been up in arms since I walked in." A pause, and a tilt of head, Umi’s expression softens, just a smidge, and Maki scoffs. 

“Is something bothering you?” 

“Of course not.”

Umi tries not to sigh. 

“All right, then. Let’s go through it again.”

They do. and it’s two hours after school and after practice, it’s almost seven and they’re still holed up in the music room, backs against the wall, knees up against their chests. Maki was about ready to tear her hair out when Umi got up, with a finality and a _just, let’s stop for today,_ and now they are left back where they started: with an unfinished song about love and everything else neither of them were particularly good at. Umi ties her hair up in a ponytail and rolls up her shirt sleeves, and Maki wraps her arms around herself, and groans.  

“This is awful.”

“So forward.”  

“It is, though.” 

They’re a lot more blunt at this hour, neither of them want to go home on the last train, and their time was running out. 

“It’s stupid. It’s stupid because I can’t get this register right and it doesn’t sound right, and that’s not supposed be how it goes. We’ve written harder songs than this.” 

Umi arches a brow, and Maki huffs some more. She’s not, disagreeing per say, she’s just. Surprised. A little. Maybe not, maybe she’s been waiting for this moment all day.

“We went through the hell that was Kira Kira Sensation. This is almost kind in comparison.” 

“I liked that song a lot.” 

“It was awful, Umi. Those melodies were absolutely brutal to choreograph, you were upset about it almost every day.” 

Okay. Maybe, they remember the song a lot differently.

“We did it for the group, though. Everyone was so glad when we finally got it down.” 

Maki sighs, and stretches out her legs, leans her head on Umi’s shoulder, and makes a big deal out of looking at her nails, her nails are painted with a clear polish, and the varnish is chipping. 

“Maybe we have to get Eli to sing it.” 

Umi laughs, and she hopes it sounds genuine. Maki notices her faux pas after, _sorry_ , _about_ _that_. No harm done, Umi wants to respond, to say, but the words don’t come out of her mouth. It’s fine. Eli Ayase singing about love and romance is something that made her chest ache and her eyes water but never for long enough to call it a problem, it’s more of an irritant than anything and. That’s fine. A lot of things were annoying for Umi, and this could be just another one.

Maki’s hair smells like strawberries and daisies, something sweet, and it doesn’t fit her.

“We’re not going to get anything done like this.”

The last train is probably pulling into the station. They’re going to have to walk home, listen to the same song off of her mp3 player. They’ll have to share earbuds because Umi didn’t bring hers today, she didn’t think she would have to, she didn’t think she’d have to stay for so long. It didn’t seem like an issue this morning when things were okay, and she wasn’t thinking about the little details, the minutia of existence.

God. 

“Can we try it again.” 

Maki says it like a claim, instead of a question. 

“After you.”

They’re back on the piano bench and when Maki plays, Umi hums along, taps her foot against the floor, and they finish without any complications. They pack their bags and check each other for imperfections, they’re the ones who have to look the most put together. Maki tells her to fix her ponytail, Umi, she says with a look, you’ve got some pieces sticking out. Umi says thanks, fixes it, and tells her to fix her skirt, it was riding up. Maki flushes and pats the fabric down, and Umi wonders why she hasn’t considered tights.

The music room is empty, and Umi’s thinking about the song from the radio Maki was playing earlier, the one she played effortlessly, and she wonders if her lyrics will ever be that easy. 

She’s a little frustrated that their session wasn’t all that great today, but it’s okay, for now, at least. They’ll fix it tomorrow, after practice, and then they’ll have a finished product by the end of the week, and the rest of Muse will clap excitedly, eyes bright, shining, and ask and rave about the production process—Umi and Maki will smile, and tell them how smoothly it went, how efficient they were, how much time was dedicated to creating a masterpiece.

And they’ll gloss over their walk home, they’re taking the scenic route and they’re making a stop at the corner store. Maki comes out with two things of chocolate milk, throws one at Umi, and she doesn’t even complain when her carton doesn’t come with a prize sticker. They loiter outside the little store, and listen to the song from the radio together. 

“I want my song to sound like this,” Umi says, not realizing she’s thinking out loud until Maki makes a noise. Something like a snort, something like a laugh, it’s a surprised thing. A gesture so out of place.

“I can only do so much.” 

Umi resists the urge to roll her eyes, and they’re off again. Her house is first, and Maki says good bye, see you tomorrow, scratches the back of her head before making the choice to turn around and leave her on the front porch. She stuffs her hands into her pockets before walking away, always so dedicated to that effortless cool, and Umi waves goodbye, despite all things.

There was always tomorrow. 

.

Tomorrow doesn’t come fast enough and Umi goes through six revisions of her song, and it’s not until she’s sure she’s cracked the code, that she texts Maki, _Nishikino_ , the message starts, _I think I’ve got it._  

Maki calls her, hums a melody; Umi finally smiles. 


End file.
